Let us put by some hour of every day for holy things...

I will not doubt, though all my ships at sea
Come drifting home with broken masts and sails.
I will believe the Hand which never fails,
From seeming evil, worketh good for me.
And though I weep because those sails are tattered,
Still will I cry, while my best hopes lie shattered:
I trust in Thee.
--Ann Kimmel

Although the fig tree shall not blossom, neither shall fruit be in the vines, the labor of the olive shall fail and the fields shall yield no meat, the flock shall be cut off from the fold and there shall be no herd in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will joy in the God of my salvation. Habakkuk 3:17-18

Saturday, September 14, 2013

The Diaper from Hell

Through a freak happenstance, I have managed to carve out a visitor-free, having-to-go-someplace-free Saturday. Falling like a rare pearl into my lap, as it were, I decided to devote this blessed break to working on some of those projects I've been hankering to tackle.

Several months ago I promised my daughter-in-law I'd make cloth diapers for baby Gwendolyn. I'd made them for my own kids and knew it to be a simple job. I went to the fabric store for some thick, soft diaper flannel, only to find that clothing the backsides of babies has gone high-tech in the 20-some years since I was in the infant-rearing business. Thinking somehow I'd be letting my grandchild down if I didn't get with the program, I allowed myself to be seduced by all the latest innovations and miracle fabrics. I bought yards and yards of PUL (a new soft waterproof material), special wicking fabric, foldover elastic in cute baby colors, velcro galore, and yards and yards of cotton birdseye, in addition to the old-fashioned flannel. And I bought the patterns to tell me how to put all these supplies together.

What a joke! After a good four hours of work, I have managed to make ONE of these new-fangled all-in-one engineering marvels. AND I still have to put on the velcro, AND make the removable "soaker" insert to put be placed between the layers. Good grief. 

I am suspicious that these new designs have been dreamed up by some saboteur from the disposable diaper manufacturers industry. Make them complicated and expensive enough, this evil genius probably surmised, and they'll give up the idea altogether, and go back to stuffing landfills with Huggies and Pampers! These conniving crumbbums have also somehow made old-fashioned standbys like diaper pins and plastic pants simply disappear from the shelves. I was dumbfounded when I ended up empty-handed after a long day's search of the stores for these items. So you're more or less forced to either buy disposables, or sew these complicated new designs. Annoying!

Okay, here's the 4-hour version (minus the special velcro tabs; I found out I didn't buy the right type):

Heaven forbid you should use diaper pins with these; the waterproof layer will be damaged.

Now here's a stack of lovely old-fashioned cotton flannel diapers which I whipped out happily in less time than it took me to make one of the 21st century wonder diapers (or, as my husband coined it, the diaper from hell.)

I'm going back to these! Of course, I now have to figure out some way of making a plastic pants substitute. I'll rummage around and find a baby bloomer pattern and see if that won't work. I've umpteen yards of the PUL waterproof fabric left, so I may as well use it for something. And NO STINKING VELCRO TABS, EITHER! Poor Gwennie will just have to be an old-fashioned girl wearing pinned-on diapers and pouffy rubbery pants with elastic at the legs and waist.

Okay, I'm done venting. I'm also done sewing diapers for the rest of the day; I'll tackle more of them in the coming week when I've recovered from the general trauma of this thwarted effort. 

What I will do is get back to work on the stuffed cat I'm making from an old, slightly felted angora sweater:

And I've another poodle to finish up. She's all sewn together; I just have to contrive some kind of trimmings to give her personality.

I'll keep you updated.

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